The Oblivion Crisis Hero
by BD99
Summary: Ragnar is a typical drunken brute who found himself fallen from Grace. Arrested and left for dead circumstance finds him the Hero selected to Close the jaws of Oblivion and find the heir to the throne. But can he be a Hero when he can't be a law abiding Nord? Perhaps A childish Assassin seeking to prove herself will be able to tame him, and save Cyrodiil.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1 – Sweet Dreams are made of Defiance

She woke with a gasp, sweat clinging to her body. The air was tortuously cold against her damp clothing, making her shudder and curl into a tight ball. She pulled her blanket up around her neck, burying herself in its soft goodness and warmth. She kept her eyes closed, hoping to erase the images she had seen, the voices she had heard. It had to be a nightmare… it just had to be. The fires of Oblivion had claimed her skin, never marking her yet never relenting. An eternity of pain, held in a cage dangling over lava. The Dremora had looked at her, a cruel expression on its face as it had pulled the lever and then the cage had descended towards the lava. Now she was awake, unable to banish the images from her head. This had been one of those dreams, she could tell by how vivid the images had been, and how the pain had chased her into her waking hours. She ran her hand down her side, searching for the heat on her skin, the dirt and grime. She then lifted her hands from under the blankets and stared at them, looking for the blood that had covered her hands as she had tried to tear the bars apart to escape. She could feel the desperation that had fuelled her to pull on the bars so hard she had drawn her own blood. When she saw nothing but her skin greeting her she sighed.

"It was just a dream" she whispered to herself, relieved to hear her voice come out smoothly. The pain of her dreams had followed her into her waking hours, but the psychical injuries had not. All she had to do was pretend she was not shaken by her dreams, that they had not happened. If it got out she had been dreaming again every disciple and his dog would be after her. She wasn't prepared to deal with the endless questions and politics today, not after what she had spent the night enduring. Her body was well rested as always, but her mind was fragile and tired. She gazed at her window, looking to see if the sun was high. When she saw it wasn't she sighed, wondering whether or not she should attempt to sleep. After a few moments she wiggled back into the warmth and safety of her blankets, not even bothering to move the strands of hair tickling her nose.

_"I have a few more minutes to sleep"_

_…_

_The skies were filled with black smoke, many houses set aflame with their screaming owners being burned alive within the walls they had once considered safe. The fire was not burning the wooden houses of the waterfront, but the stone mansions of the Imperial city. The white paths were stained red with the blood of countless innocents, like snow polluted by a footprint or pale skin marked with warpaint. Soldiers slipped as they ran, some towards the battle and others away. The sound of armor clinking as squads of soldiers ran in formation. The sound of a crash as a soldier slipped in the blood or tripped over a body and fell to the ground. The screams of the Dremora, their mystical and horrible voices only adding to the terrifying chaos. The streets stunk of death and rotted meat, blood and smoke. The air was thick and deadly, and many civilians were falling due to being unable to breathe. Sounds of coughing occasionally broke the sounds of armor against armor, or against the stone. The closer she ran, the louder the sounds became. The sounds of battle and slaughter. There were not enough soldiers to protect the Imperial City and the civilians, and the leaders chose to let innocence die to save a city that could be rebuilt._

_"Run!" The word was screamed over and over again, rising in a chorus of screams and orders. The Dremora screamed it. The Civilians screamed it. The soldiers screamed it._

_"Fight!" A single voice shouted against the panicked screams. The voice was strong and gruff, yet it was not sinister like others. The voice was that of a leader, a hero. She found herself hunting for that lone male voice, the voice of her saviour. She stumbled through the streets, ghosting through objects as if they were not there. She knew she would not be present at this fight, or at least not in the role she was dreaming about. She soon found a group of elves surrounded by Dremora. She could only watch in horror as the children and adults alike were cornered, and the Dremora raised their weapons. _

_Then, as if a miracle had occurred one of the Dremora turned on its companions, swinging the blade so viciously that they began to fall. His blade was a flame, a flame of a different kind. His blade was justice, vengeance. His blade was hope and renewal. His blade was the beginning of a new Era. Then, as quickly as he had risen he fell, struck so many times he could no longer stand. The Dremora continued to fight with tooth and claw as his blade was removed, but it was not enough. He was going to die. She screamed loudly, trying to distract the Dremora from the one who had risen from darkness but her voice didn't come. She couldn't make a sound, couldn't move. She was paralysed with fear for this Dremora's life. Just as another Dremora struck a single shout filled the air._

_"Fus Ro Dah!" The Dremora went flying from the words, as if they contained power. She could feel the force behind the words herself, the confidence that they would work. It was as if the person who had shouted these words knew they would work. A mix of concern yet reassurance, darkness and light. Dremora tamed by Divine, and Divine darkened by Dremora. The images made a pushed the memories aside, and suddenly she forgot the words that had been shouted._

_A warrior dressed in Golden Armor leapt into the fray, landing in the middle of the circle on the Dremora that had been attacked. The warrior swung a blade made of ice, freezing the flames as he struck. His face was hidden beneath a hood, but she couldn't help feel the warrior was familiar, a friend she had not met yet. The warrior was a blur, moving faster than the eye could see. Time stood still as the warrior defeated the last of his foes and offered a hand to the Dremora. When their hands united the golden warrior pulled the Dremora into his embrace, and they held one another as if their lives depended on it. When they both moved to uncover their faces the smoke covered them, and she suddenly felt herself being shaken._

_"Wake up!"_

_…._

"Wake up!" The harsh voice of the female Dark Elf reached her ears. She could feel the strong hands on her shoulders, shaking her so violently her head rolled on her neck. She tensed, groaning loudly to indicate she was awake. She felt more rested, as if she had a purpose but she couldn't shake the tiredness she felt. She kept her eyes closed, rolling over and gathering her blankets around her body tightly like a cocoon. It was warm, soft and safe. The fur blankets were comforting; much like a dagger in her hand was safety.

"Five more minutes" she said, barely getting the words out as more than a flat, sleepy groan. The shaking had stopped, but her brain still felt like it was being rattled in her head. Her eyes couldn't open and there was a certain tenseness in her jaw, as if she was resisting yawing. She gave into the yawn, opening her mouth wide and clamping her eyes tight as the sound escaped her. Her face relaxed as the yawn finished, and she felt the tension she had felt was gone. Suddenly the warmth was torn away, thrown at her feet like the head of a criminal tossed to the king. She yelped, gathering herself into a tight ball as light assaulted her. The attack did not end there. Cold hands grabbed her by the arm and yanked, rolling her so the light was shining directly into her sensitive eyes. She groaned loudly, putting a hand up to try and block the light as the hands continued to pull her. She squawked rather indignantly as she was pulled off her bed and landed on the stone floor with a thud.

"Get up!" The Dark Elf ordered again. She weakly groaned, turning to look up at the stern dark Elf woman, Belan Uvani.

The first thing that was noticeable about the Dark Elf were her small white eyes, scarred beyond repair yet still able to see. She had an angled brow, soft compared to other Dark Elves yet still harsh on her. Her skin was a greener shade than most Elves, instead of the usual greyish of her kind. Her nose was sharp and hawklike, a nose that was always in other people's business both metaphorically and literally. Her nose went well with her harsh thin lips that gave her an older appearance. Her cheeks were also hollow for her age, giving her an aged appearance. She wasn't that old, only a few hundred years old.

"I said five more minutes, _sister_" she retorted to the Dark elf, spitting the last word as if it were foul tasting. It was no secret that she and Uvani did not get along; in fact, they went out of their way to annoy one another. This had been going on for the last fifty years or so. For the first ten years it had been funny, a bitch fight between sisters. However, it had slowly grown tiresome and they both assumed the other would never stop. There were perks to being gifted, but it also left one open to awful pranks the other had thought up for twenty or so years.

"And I woke you up _now_, Stronach" the elf replied, using her last name.

"If the special dreamer can't wake up then alas our order will end"

"Do I hear jealousy, Uvani?" Stronach asked in a teasing tone of voice. Every day was the same with Uvani. Her unwavering loyalty to their order was a cover for jealousy. Stronach was also loyal, although much younger than the Dark Elf. Stronach knew she had abilities others did not, just as others had abilities she did not. She was one of their dreamers, gifted individuals that could have dreams to predict the future. As the youngest of the youngest bloodline, Stronach was looked upon as a special child; as such a lot of attention was paid to her. Her life was planned out, and the walls weighed heavily on her.

"You're but a child, and you act like one. But the others trust your dreams, and they request you share your latest one" Uvani expressed her disgust. It was true, Stonach was childish but she was still loyal, and could still hold her own against the other bloodlines. Others looked up to her, just as they looked to Uvani for her skill with daggers. Uvani had an unnatural gift at combat, although she never revealed her secret. Others looked to Uvani for jobs that were likely to end in conflict. Stronach was rarely let out on assassinations, but when she was she took full advantage. She was selected for jobs that required finesse. Even with her childish personality she could handle the most mature of jobs. She was one they called incredibly gifted, and she wished she actually was what they believed. Instead of being given the chance to prove she was an excellent assassin she was caged and forced to share her dreams. She often refused, which didn't sit well with anyone, especially Uvani.

"Fine. I'll share the stupid dream then, Happy?" Stronarch growled, getting to her feet with a huff. Uvani nodded, turning and walking out of the room without another word. Stronach groaned loudly, flopping back onto her bed and closing her eyes. It was hopeless to try and resist, but something about the voice she had heard was familiar. It was as if she had heard it before in her waking hours. She pushed herself up off her bed, blinking a few times as she looked around the room for her desk. She got up, quickly crossing the room to her desk, where she sat down and began to write.

She was not going to remain locked up any longer, nor was she going to share her dream only to have another assassin sent to make sure things went smoothly. This was her dream. Her life. Her way. She was going to leave the safety of their castle and head to Cyrodiil, a land she enjoyed and had thrived in. She was going to go find the man who had spoken, the man who had inspired her to take action. She was going to go find the hero. She finished writing her dreams down and placed it on the bed, not bothering to make it. She knew the maids would scold her for it later, but she didn't really care. She quickly got dressed in her leather armor, making sure that every buckle was sitting in its proper place. She grabbed an ebony dagger, strapping it around her thigh before she rushed to her door. She stormed out of her room into the dark stone halls, ignoring the chill as she walked away from the Blood Chambers. She was not heading towards the new, but towards the old.

The stone was dark, and it grew darker as she walked towards the chambers that would lead to her escape. Her footsteps were as silent as a cats, confident and predatory despite their softness. Her shadow danced on the walls as she passed the torches that flickered in their place on the wall. The firelight made her skin glow, revealing her warm, gentle features to anyone who passed by. She raised her hands to her hood, pulling it up and hiding her face as several disciples walked past. With her face hidden she continued to walk through the halls, looking like any other disciple except for her dagger. She eventually reached a dark room, with only a circle obvious in the middle. It was filled with blood, glowing faintly as she stepped closer. When she stood in the circle she looked at the alter that stood in the middle. After a quick breath she placed her hand down, wincing as a blade shot out and gashed her hand open. She remembered her dream, and how her hands had been bleeding. It inspired her to stay strong, to remain silent as her blood began to fill the alter, then cascaded down the sides of the stone into the circle. The blood flared, as if set on fire before a voice reached her ears.

"Where to, Daughter of Sithis?"

She took a deep breath, preparing to face the wrath of every other child out there before she spoke.

"Cyrodiil. The Imperial City. Prison district"

**AN: Some people have expressed some curiosity in some of the past of my Skyrim Fics, so I decided to add a story about it. I will be continuing to work on The Skyrim Alliance, but this story is relevent to the story in Lineage. Set a few hundred years before, with no spoilers. I hope you enjoy.**


	2. Chapter 2 - Die In Here

Chapter 2 – Die In Here

Ragnar awoke with a groan. His vision was blurred, and the faintest bit of light was like a hot blade held to his eyes. It took him a moment to realise he was in sack clothing, armor and weapons gone. He felt naked without his armor, and it wasn't the good kind of naked either. To Ragnar there were two kinds of naked, the lucky with company and the degrading kind. Even with clothes on he felt like a little boy, with no form of defence against the monsters his skooma plagued mind could conjure up. His mind had once been clean; it had once been free of the pleasure and pain of the drug. In the beginning he had been strong enough to resist, unlike other fighters around him. He had been strong enough to resist the offers in his ear. Then he had switched companies to discover he secret, and he had intended to be a hero. Instead he had fallen into a drug ring, and had taken the drug. It made him stronger, faster, better. At first his mind had been strong enough to resist the negative side effects of the Skooma but after time he had begun to experience negative side effects. He had stopped dead, making him irritable and sloppy. His strength had begun to fail him, his mind played tricks and he could go days and think he had only been a few minutes. One bad habit had followed another, and he had gone from Skooma to alcohol. At first he had resisted that too, but the need for something to make him feel good had become an overpowering force and he had ended up drinking himself into a stupor. Naturally when a long term visitor had been found dead he had been blamed, and arrested. That was… days, months? No. That was years ago.

Recently he had been moved to a new section of the prison, a new cell. It was smaller than his last, with the roof curving into a straight wall with a curious looking arch. The single window, his only source of light and fresh air, was tiny and double his height in the air. There was a small table, with a single chair sitting rather miserably next to it. There was a plate on the table, along with a cup and pitcher. In another corner there was a rather miserable looking bucket that had been provided for him to do his business in. The lack of a bedroll was the reason he was sleeping against the wall of his cell near the door, desperately waiting for something to eat to get rid of his awful headache and stomach ache.

"My, my you're a big one. A Nord I guess, right? So strong, but you can't bend steel can you? You can't do anything to get out. All those big muscles, they're going to waste away. When the End comes you won't even have the strength to dry your tears. That's right. You're going to die in here. You hear me Nord? You're going to die!" The dark Elf across the hall taunted, standing at his bars casually. From what Ragnar could see he was a skimpy Dark Elf, wasted away from his time in the cell. Ragnar growled, grabbing the chain dangling from the roof before he pulled himself to his feet. He was not a small man, and with the hangover he had pulling himself up felt like trying to lift a Dragon, or what he imagined lifting a dragon would feel like. He stumbled forwards, leaning against the bars. He wrapped his large hands around two bars, in part to intimidate the Elf and in part to hold himself up. He was tempted to try to bend the steal, to perform a feat worthy of legend but even drunk or drugged he wasn't that stupid.

"Shut up, Grey Skin" he snarled, tugging on the bars to emphasise his words. The bars made a clang sound as his shackles hit them, but the Elf across the hall didn't look concerned at all. He tilted his head, apparently listening to something that Ragnar couldn't hear. Then, slowly the sounds of footsteps came down the stairs along with muffled voices. His eyes went wide for a moment before he turned his attention back to the Elf, who seemed to be waiting for his attention.

"Hey, you hear that? The guards are coming. For you." The Elf said before laughing like a maniac. His chuckle was evil yet somehow it didn't intimidate. It was the chuckle of a madman, hoping to pin his insanity on another as well as a death sentence. Ragnar didn't retreat from the bars; instead he pressed his face closer and tried to see the Guards. Something was wrong about it. The time didn't feel right, the air was tense and the Guards were not shouting. Instead the conversations were hushed and hurried, desperate even.

"My job right now is to get you to safety" A strong woman's voice said. Ragnar blinked in alarm. He wasn't in his strongest state of mind but a prison didn't seem like a safe place to hide. If anything, it was a trap with no escape. He pushed against the bars, trying to get closer to the conversation. His eyes widened in alarm as he caught sight of the people walking in. Three of them were warriors, with strange looking swords and fancy armor. The armor was dark with golden trim, and he swore he saw touches of greenish blue mixed in as well. There were two men and a woman, and from what he could tell the woman was the commanding officer. What shocked him however was the man walking in the middle of their group. He wore robes, robes that were fancier than anything Ragnar had ever seen in his life. His robes put the Counts and Countesses to shame. His eyes were drawn from fur trim to the large red stone on his chest. The large Diamond shaped red stone was shining in the light, yet it seemed to be sad. With a sudden rush of clarity he realised just who this man was.

"The Emperor"

"I know this man. The Prisoner" The Emperor whispered in his deep, wise tone. The sound was so soft Ragnar wasn't sure whether he had heard it or dreamed it, but it was enough to shake him to the core. The Blades seemed unaffected by the Emperors words, and the female didn't budge when the Emperor stepped closer. She kept herself between him and Ragnar, which only managed to make the Nord angry. He pulled on the bars again, proving his point that he wanted out. His wrists were itchy under the metal, yet he couldn't scratch them. His skin was rubbed raw from the harsh edges of iron yet nobody would bandage the small cuts and scrapes. He was stiff and sore from not having a bed to sleep on, or even a bedroll. Overall he had been treated like an animal, and now the Emperor dared say he knew him and the Blades did nothing. There was no apology or motion to free him.

"What's this prisoner doing here? This cell is supposed to be off limits!" The female asked in a firm, annoyed tone of voice. She had raised her voice to a shout as she turned to glare at the other blades. The men looked afraid suddenly, and the older one looked rather sheepish, as if he had personally made the mistake.

"Unusual mix up with the watch. There was a woman here distracting them all, I…" The Older Redguard began. Ragnar's eyes drifted to the Blade's sword, which was within his reach if he could move quick enough. He put his hand through the bars, stretching his arm as far as he could as he tried to grasp the hilt. It was his freedom if he could just grab it. He could fight through the Blades, retrieve his gear and then flee. He could travel to Skyrim, his birthplace. He could join the Companions, start all over again. He just had to grab that weapon. Just as his finger brushed it the woman began to turn around. Faced with the choice of possibly losing his hand or his freedom he froze. Then, holding back every emotion of regret and rage he could, he yanked his hand back to the bars. His shackles made another clang as metal connected with metal.

"Nevermind. Get that gate open" she said as she turned. Her expression went hard and aggressive as she placed her hand on her sword, as if warning Ragnar away. His eyes narrowed at the woman, daring her to draw her weapon. Ragnar had always considered women the weaker sex, it was the way he had seen things since his father had beaten his mother down. He respected women had their strengths, but when it came to a fight he would rather have a man at his back. This hadn't sat well with his fellow Fighters Guild members, who were led by a woman.

"Stand back prisoner! We won't hesitate to kill you if you get in our way" The woman growled in a firm, commanding tone of voice. Ragnar scoffed softly.

_"Yeah? You'll hit me over the head with your cooking pots? Or poke me with that stick?" _He wanted to say, his thoughts and body language screamed. If he had his armor and sword the woman would mean nothing to him. Her sword would break, her armor would be useless and her corpse would be lying on the floor for her threat. As it was he was not about to jump at her command and obey her like a faithful hound. Instead he stood at the bars, glaring into her eyes ferociously. She was surprised he resisted, he could see the emotions in her eyes, but she didn't seem intimidated. Why would she be? He was an unarmed prisoner with shackles on. But there was no guarantee that she wouldn't kill him the moment they were inside the cell. It was perfectly like a woman to break her word; the sirens would only bring him pain or pleasure. They were not cut out for his world of savagery and madness. This one was threatening him as if he was a normal Nord, instead of a warrior.

"You, prisoner! Stand aside! Over by the window. Stay out of our way and you won't get hurt" The older Redguard spoke up, pointing towards the window. His voice carried more authority, wisdom from age and experience. He was the kind of man Ragnar would want at his back, the kind of man he respected. With the promise of not being killed coming from a man he nodded, stepping back wards slowly. His midnight blue eyes were narrowed dangerously, silently warning the Blades not to break their word. He soon felt the stone against his back, and the Blades walked in. He remained silent, ignoring their words and warnings as they spoke among themselves and threatened him. Just as the Woman reached the strange archway the Emperor looked at him in alarm.

"You... I've seen you. Let me see your face. You are the one from my dreams… The stars were right, and this is the day. Gods give me strength. Assassins attacked my sons, and I am next. My Blades are leading me out of the city along a secret escape route. By chance, the entrance to that escape route leads through your cell" Emperor Uriel Septim spoke in that wise voice that left Ragnar feeling like a child under a kind fathers supervision. His aged face was equally as wise as his voice, and Ragnar found himself bowing his head slightly in respect. Ragnar had never willingly bowed his head to anyone, but this man inspired him to lower his challenging gaze in respect.

"Then why the Oblivion am I in this cell?" He demanded. He wasn't unhappy about it, the complete opposite. If the Blades didn't kill him then he would have a chance at escaping. A chance for freedom. The Emperor looked thoughtful for a moment, raising a withered hand to his chin and rubbing it in thought.

"Perhaps the gods have placed you here so that we may meet. As for what you have done… it does not matter. That is not what you will be remembered for. You are a citizen of Tamriel, and you, too, shall serve her in your own way"

"I make my own way!" Ragnar said in a heated tone of voice. The older Redguard Blade tensed, but Uriel raised his hand and shook his head, ordering his Blade to stand down. Ragnar stood with his fists ready, large muscles tensed and singing for the fight. Without the alcohol in his system the fight seemed less entertaining, less exciting and more like a stupid death wish. Still, he would rather die and be true to himself than to change into a bootlicking milk drinker to please another.

"So do we all. But what path can be avoided whose end is fixed by the almighty Gods?" The Emperor inquired, forcing Ragnar to pause. He had no answer. He barely registered the Blades talking, and the stone arch sliding away to reveal the entrance to a passage. He stood staring blankly into space, even as the Emperor was guided through the entrance. Ragnar saw the wise old man's eyes for the last time as he passed through the entrance, and he instantly felt the loss of the Emperor. Something bad was going to happen, he just knew it. Determination flooded his veins. He had to help protect this man who took the time to address a man he didn't know. A man who could see so much with his dreams.

"I guess this is your lucky day, prisoner. Just stay out of our way" The younger Redguard spoke for the first time before he sprinted after the group. Ragnar blinked for a moment, his thoughts still haunted by the Emperors words.

_"Who can deny their gods?"_

**AN: I know its usual for me to write longer chapters, but for this story I've decided to have an attempt at keeping the chapters to around 2000 words (half my usual word count for a chapter)  
The Next chapter of Lineage will have some reference to This story so yeah. Funtimes. Hoping to see some Skyrim Alliance people come and give this some love for Ragnar and his shadowy friend to be.**


	3. Chapter 3 – Arrangements for a Pardon

Chapter 3 – Arrangements for a Pardon

She walked with a purpose through the Imperial city, eyes inspecting the face of every single man she passed. Her dreams continued to haunt her every night, the voice of the man continued to play through her mind. Her dependence on finding the voice had rapidly become more than curiosity. It was an obsession. She had to find the man who could save Cyrodiil, and she had to help him. She had to prove to everyone she was strong enough to make it on her own, that she wasn't the child Uvani continued to call her. People looked to her as a powerful dreamer, a powerful woman to guide them yet when she brought warnings of a bad future they laughed her away, until another older dreamer came with the exact same dream. Then they praised the older dreamer, leaving her out to dry. She was not about to have that. The streets were busy and filled with life, people rushing down white stone streets. It was beautiful, elegant buildings that appeared like white gold. She continued along the street, hunting for a clue of the man's existence.

"Drunken Murder transferred to Imperial city prison. Do we want this scum in our city? Read it here!" A booming voice called out loudly. A man was standing with papers, offering them to every man and woman that walked past. Nobody seemed interested in the least, although some just took the paper offered to them for some reason or another. She was intrigued. The assassin moved closer, keeping her hood pulled up her body caved in. She was the image of shyness as she stepped up, standing close to the man offering papers. He smelt horrible, like he had been bathing stagnant water for most of his life. Her eyes teared up as she made a story in her mind. He smelt bad, and he wore no shoes. He was a beggar from the waterfront, hired to sell papers in the market district. She stood patiently before him, waiting for the man to notice her.

"Why hello young lady, care for the latest news?" the man asked, revealing broken teeth as he spoke. She lowered her brows slightly, pouting at the man. Everyone mistook her for young. Everyone called her a child. She was sick of it, yet at the same time she knew it was an advantage. She smiled sweetly, aware the man could probably see the bottom half of her face. When the man smiled back she knew she had him. She kept the cheerful youth on display as she took the parchment from his hands, accepting it calmly.

"Who is this about?" she asked simply. Something told her to question, gave her the urge to know more. She couldn't explain it but every sense sung with each word she spoke. Her curiosity was so intense she was almost shaking, her excitement flooding her veins and her lust for knowledge unshakable. Undeniable. Insatiable.

"Ragnar. He was a somwhat known trouble maker, but he was the good sort under it all. He went around helping people without charge, and beating down idiots who mouthed off. He was a typical Skyrim lad. He'd drink, hit on married women and beat down the jealous husbands, then pack up and head to the next city and do it all over again. There's a legend that he saw an old woman carrying her wares home and he stopped to help her. Next thing a thief came and tried to steal her coin purse. Well Ragnar hammered the thief's head in, threw the skimp over his shoulder and continued to carry the old lady's shopping home. By the time he got to The Barracks the Thief was confessing to everyone passing by to try and get away from the damned brute. Poor sod" The man answered her question, shaking his head after a few moments. Her interest was piqued. The man sounded like a brute alright, but his heroics caught her attention. So did the man's choice of words.

"Why poor sod?" She inquired. She crossed her arms, holding them against her body as she listened to the man. Her casual interest caught nobody's attention, but it seemed to make the man's day. She could tell he needed the money he would be paid for this job. She assumed he had to get rid of all the parchment he had been given. She looked to the bag slung over his shoulder, and saw it was mostly full. She began to contemplate whether she should make herself stand out and offer him some coin.

"He was arrested years ago. Apparently he murdered some Breton at the Inn of III Omen. The idiot was so bloody drunk he couldn't remember what he had done that night, besides hit on some mysterious girl, and get lucky. Found him naked in the Breton's room with blood all over him and a dagger in hand. Then he had some note for the Dark Brotherhood. Evidence was so against him they simply locked him away and didn't investigate." The man continued onwards, missing her quick movement to her coin purse. She would feed him for a few nights with a few coins she didn't need, but it was also a risk. She could turn a blind eye to the poor, it was part of her training but something about this man and this situation encouraged her to use her heart instead of her head.

"Is there a picture of him?" She asked without thinking. The man nodded and offered another piece of paper to her. She reached out, taking the paper cautiously. She offered a few coins to the man, watching his eyes come alight with joy as his trembling hands reached for the coins. She didn't wait for his thank you; she simply walked away towards the shadows. Shadows were safety, they provided cover and they represented a place where she could gather her thoughts. Once in the shadows she leaned against one of the walls, relaxing as the cool of the stone reached through her armor and touched her flesh. It was calm, soothing from the heat of the sun beating down and the close packed people. The market wasn't unpleasantly packed, rather is was busier than she was used to. She always grew hot when in crowds of people, as if she absorbed their body heat and stored it. Like the embers of a campfire being the base of all heat, so it was with the assassin and crowds. She sighed, looking down towards the parchment.

He was a hairy man, with a large shaggy beard hanging from his face, giving him an animalistic look. His hair on his head was hacked, as if it had been chopped up when he went to prison. His features were square, although his cheeks seemed angled. His cheekbones were low and wide, fitting well with his large, pointed nose. His lips were large rosebuds under the thick layer of hair. His eyes were the most captivating thing about him. Neither small nor large they seemed utterly perfect on his face. Something about them appeared gentle in the drawing; although she wasn't sure whether that was the artist or the man. From the way his shoulders and neck were scribbled in he was a large, tall man, with good muscle definition.

"That's him" She whispered to herself, staring at the picture for a few more seconds before she lowered the parchment, rolling it up and storing it in one of her pockets. She walked out towards the market with a new sense of purpose. She was hunting for some civilian clothes. Clothes that would attract attention. She would need to play the game to free this man from prison.

…

"Come on, big boy. Just one little drink wouldn't hurt" She purred, running her finger down the man's nose. The aging Imperial's eyes fluttered as she stroked his face, feeling his grimy skin beneath her fingertips. He was greasy and sweaty, something that she would usually avoid. As it was she avoided men and women when it came to emotional connections, it only led to heartache. Still, when the job required that she was a sexual predator, or the sweet innocent maiden waiting for true love then she would play the part, and she would play it well. She had been trained to play every single role in the world. From the insane beggar to the richest noble woman, if the role was required to kill a target then she would adopt the nature, personify her character and she would kill without hesitation or remorse.

"Well. Maybe I can have one drink with a charming young woman such as yourself" The man said, reaching around to grab her hind quarters. He gave her buttocks a rather harsh squeeze, one which made her yelp in surprise. Of course, it was the role she was playing. The seductive little maid. She giggled. It was a sound that sounded so fake to her ears she almost vomited. The man seemed happy however, as he gave her another squeeze and pulled her closer with a chuckle. She let the man pull her closer, let him think she enjoyed his company. She leaned past his head slowly, ensuring he got a good view of her breasts as she reached for the wine she had brought. She quickly grabbed the powder and dropped it into the wine, knowing she was not only drugging the man but herself as well. He would likely not remember this day, not without the antidote which she had taken already. The powder would not affect her with the antidote in her system, but it would most certainly affect the man.

"I hope you like red wine, I know I do" she continued with another giggle. She knew she was playing the part well enough, but it still made her feel sick to the stomach. If something went wrong here she might be forced into something worse than her harmless teasing. She wore a short dress, one that left a lot of skin bare. She had also left some of the dress unstrung, revealing an almost shameful amount of cleavage. Of course it had worked a charm. The Imperial Warden hadn't even asked what a maid was doing coming to clean his office, he had just let her in and watched her clean his office with a wolfish grin. She had engaged him in playful small talk, slowly guiding the conversation to the point where he announced his wife had just bore him a son. She had ignored her personal feeling of disgust and played the celebrating maiden. He didn't even seem suspicious that she had just _happened_ to have wine among her belongings. He had been too interested in her body to realise she was planning something.

"I hope you like my personally brewed wine. It's white" he grunted softly, sliding his hands along her ribcage as he took a deep breath in. He was savouring the hunt, savouring what he thought would be his prize. She despised the act even more, but she allowed her body to appear as if she enjoyed his touch. She leaned back, making sure to run as must of her body along him as possible. He shuddered as she leaned back, looking at him through her lashes. She battered them as she offered a mug to him. He took it in one hand, wrapping his other around her waist. She was pulled onto his lap, and she could feel the cold steel of his armor against his buttocks and the back of her legs. She poured the wine into the mug carefully, her eyes watching for the powder. When she saw it lingering in the bottom of the bottle she cursed to herself. She would not be able to get him to drink that, not before he wanted more than teasing. As he went to raise his mug to his lips she realised she still had the powder between her fingers. Her hand shot out, landing over the cup. As she pushed it down she parted her fingers, letting the powder fall into the liquid.

"Wait. A toast. To your son, may he be as strapping as his father" She said with a perfect battering of her eyelids. The man's nostrils flared and his eyes darkened, a look of lust and desire claiming him as he hastily raised the mug to his lips and gulped it down. She raised her own mug to her lips, smiling as she took a sip of the wine that had just helped her free a hero. The man lowered his mug, then gazed into her eyes. He leaned closer, expecting to claim a kiss from her. She leaned back, taking a lock of his moustache in her fingers and twisting it.

"Don't forget to sign all your documents, handsome. I'd hate to _distract_ you from your work" The man grunted, turning to the documents. He quickly began signing them without looking, which made her smile softly. She hid her smile by licking her lips, looking intently at the documents. Of course the man misread her interest, and only hurried to continue pleasing the young maiden he was sure would be in his bed by the end of each page. In his haste to please her he neglected to read the documents, including the two she had slid into the pile. They were not together; instead she had slid them in randomly so she wouldn't know when he was signing them. That meant her facial expression and body language wouldn't change. She would grow more excited the closer he got to the end of the pile, and whatever reason the Warden put to that excitement was entirely his own.

"Now you're my bitch" he growled as he finished, turning and expecting her to give him the love her body had been promising the entire time. He leaned in to claim her, ignoring everything but her lips. The moment she smelt his foul, alcohol tinged breath she tensed, reaching her hand up to the back of his head. In a flash she spun away from him, leaping off his lap and slamming him down face first into the corner of his desk. It only took one hit, but it was enough to silence him. He fell to the ground with a thud. She winced, hearing the guards beginning to unlock the door. With seconds to think she did the first thing that came to mind, she pulled her dress open further. She then sat over the man, pulling his body up so his head was on her chest. The guards opened the door for a moment, saw the scene and hurriedly closed the door.

"I told you I prefer Red wine, pig" She growled down at the body as she threw him backwards. She quickly tore the dress off, moving to her packs. In a few minutes she had her leather armor back on, and the dress was stuffed into her pack. She quickly reached for the documents, shuffling through them until she found the two she wanted. A pardon for crimes committed against Cyrodiil and A signed document for the release of a prisoners belongings to a loved one. She quickly poured the bottle of wine all over the man's armor, then dropped the bottle beside his hand. In a few hours someone would find him and assume he had fallen after being drunk. Nobody would be any the wiser. Except maybe his wife, if any of the guards decided to tell her about her husband's infidelity.


	4. Chapter 4 – A Warrior's Departure

Chapter 4 – A Warrior's Departure

"Close up left. Protect the Emperor!" Captain Renault cried out, drawing her sword as the assassins fell from the shadows. The older Redguard, Glenroy drew his weapon as swiftly as a shooting arrow, leaping into action. The younger, Baurus also drew his sword quickly, but unlike his counterpart he did not go rushing for blood. The Emperor drew his silver sword, and by the way he held it Ragnar could tell he had a reasonable idea how to use it. The attackers had balls of dark magic in their hands, from which they conjured Daedric weapons. Their armor was ebony, yet it was conjured as well with red hoods and loin cloths showing among the dark armor.

Renault reached out as one of the warriors struck out at the Emperor, lifting her blade up and spinning the assassin's blade away from Uriel. The assassin abandoned the Emperor, instead striking out at Renault. He struck with an overhead blow, throwing his full power behind the attack. Renault ducked, stepping past the man and driving her elbow into his back. The assassin stumbled forwards with a grunt, finding his feet as Renault swung. He lifted his blade behind him, catching hers. He then yanked her blade up, stepping backwards and under so the blade was in front of him. He then elbowed her in the face. Renault lifted a hand to her nose, holding it as she fought with one hand. They traded blows, parrying and ducking as they fought. Eventually the assassin lunged at her, weapon outstretched. She stepped to the side, bringing the blade down in a huge slash across his back. The Assassin screamed and fell forwards, landing on his knees. Renault then looked up and saw the Emperor bested, blade aside and an assassin about to attack. She leapt into action, slicing his blade aside with all her might. This left her back open, and a third assassin shoved his blade through her chest. She gaped for a moment, blood filling her mouth before the Assassin tore his blade from her body. She fell to her knees, eyes wide and skin pale. The second assassin stepped up in front of her, and then planted his foot in her chest as a ferocious kick that sent her body rolling down the stairs.

"Captain Renault!" Glenroy cried out loudly, running towards his commander. He raised his shield to block an overhead strike from one of the assassins, flicking his blade down to block the blow from the second. The first growled, lunging in with the point. Glenroy spun quickly, bringing his shield down into one of their blades and whipping the other aside with his own blade. With his back to them he was vulnerable, and they struck at him. He leapt forwards, almost losing his footing as he landed on the edge of the stairs. Baurus came rushing to the rescue, striking one of the Assassins with a massive overhead strike. The assassin barely raised his blade in time to defend from the blow. Baurus smelt blood, and threw his shoulder into the man. At the same time Glenroy threw his shield into the assassin and together they knocked the assassins into one another.

"Are you alright, Sire? We need to clear out" Baurus yelled to the Emperor, who nodded and rushed to his side. The Blade went down the stairs first, with the Emperor close on his heels. Glenroy defended the rear, using his shield to block from overhead strikes while he knocked blades aimed at his gut aside with his blade. They made their way to the door. The Emperor had retrieved his blade, and was doing a reasonable job of appearing collected as they walked past Renault's body.

"Captain Renault?" He asked. She was still twitching, and Ragnar could see her clinging to life. She was waiting to see her Emperor get to safety. Instantly he swallowed a lump of emotion. He had never known a woman could be so loyal and true, even in the face of death. He instantly respected the woman, and he silently vowed to aid her, or to avenge her if need be.

"She's dead. I'm sorry, Sire, but we must keep moving" Baurus answered without hesitation. They thought she was dead. Perhaps the Blade knew she lived, but thought he couldn't help her. They were dedicated but outnumbered and out skilled. The assassins had the edge, and the Blades had to protect their emperor. They couldn't afford to drag her out… But Ragnar could.

"Unlock the door!" Glenroy cried out, deflecting another blow. He lashed out with his blade, slashing the assassin's throat. He gasped and clutched at a pulsing neck, trying to keep his blood within his neck as he fell to the ground. The Blade kicked the body aside, lifting his shield to block yet another attack. He jabbed out with his shield, attempting to disarm the attackers. More assassins dropped in, hunting the king with such fury the Blade's gawked. The door was open, and instantly the Blades ushered the Emperor through. As the door was closing Ragnar noticed an archer standing at the top of the stairs, aiming straight at the Emperor. In a few seconds The Large Nord crossed the room and thoughtlessly tackled the archer from behind, sending them both bouncing down the stairs in a flurry of limbs.

Every time a limb landed on the stone stairs it was a fresh world of agony he lived in. Ragnar wasn't afraid of pain like others, but he was no Gladiator. He winced as his ribs, sides and arms were beaten by the ancient white stone. When they hit the bottom they broke apart, rolling along the ground. Ragnar shook his head as he placed his hands on the ground, feeling a mix of the cold ancient stone and the hot blood that stained his hands. He pushed up, getting to his feet and rushing thoughtlessly at the Assassin, who mirrored his movements. Ragnar lowered himself into the tackle, driving his shoulder into the man's gut with all his weight and power behind him. He winced as the armor dug into his shoulder, but he still pushed the man back into the wall. The Assassin groaned as Ragnar straightened, instantly punching the man's face in a steady rhythm. He winced each time as his bare knuckles collided with the metal faceplate, but the way the mask moved unnaturally aside and hung revealed he had hit hard enough to destroy the armor. He pushed the assassin forwards only to shove his arm out and knock the assassin down. He then lifted the man to his feet and wrapped his arm around the man's neck.

"You prevent what must be done. You dare stand in the way of a new dawn?" The assassin growled, struggling in Ragnar's arms.

"I don't give a damn about your gods, or what religious cult makes you think this is what must be done. All I care about it getting them and me out of here alive" Ragnar spoke. His voice was gruff and worn, the voice of a man who had spent too much time drinking and shouting. There was also a certain quality to it that made every other assassin pause. It was the voice of a warrior. It was fearless. Selfish. It was the voice of a survivor. At the same time there was humanity in his voice. Something that suggested he was not as selfish as he seemed at a first glance.

"Blasphemy! This land belongs to the dawn!" The Assassin cried, trying to step on the Nord's toes. Ragnar moved his foot out of range, jerking his arm up around the Assassin's neck. The man gagged as he was held up by a single arm of the Nord. With his other hand he gathered a fist, waiting a second before bringing it down into the Assassin's throat. The assassin choked again, as if his windpipe had been crushed. It was then Ragnar took mercy and snapped the Assassin's neck, letting the body hit the ground as countless others had beneath his blade.

"This land is Cyrodiil!"

His cry was strong and true, the pride of his homeland and of his people echoing in his words. The assassins were silent for a moment, looking to one another as if asking who should strike first. Their heads moved as they looked between Ragnar and the dead assassin at his feet. He had defeated one of their men with nothing but his bare hands. Renault groaned softly as she stretched her hand out, grasping her blade weakly. Using the last of her strength she threw the blade up to Ragnar, collapsing the moment after.

Ragnar caught the blade by the hilt, feeling its weight settle in his hand. It was light and flimsy compared to what he was used to, but facing down the remaining assassins he was not about to complain. The First assassin rushed at him, wielding a club that looked rather deadly. Ragnar didn't wait, he gripped the hilt in a single hand, pretending to hold more of a hilt with the other. The assassin drew closer, launching into the air as he tried to bring his club down on Ragnar's head. The Nord simply sidestepped and swung the blade up with all his might, aiming for the midriff. The Assassin screamed as he realised his face was sealed and he came down on the blade, hid body being cut in half. Ragnar continued with the motion of his spin, driving the weaker blade through the armor. He was impressed by how deceptively strong the blade was, and quickly rushed at the remaining assassins. The first one struck for his side, forcing Ragnar to move the blade to be level with his body to catch it. He let go with one hand, spinning and driving his fist into the face of a second enemy. The first killer swung his blade again, hoping to cut Ragnar in half. The Nord blocked over his back, not pausing before he brought his blade up over his head, dragging the blade of the other man along with him through sheer power. The First assassin gaped as Ragnar forced him to behead his own companion with just a single move, blood sprouting over the Nord's body and soaking into his clothes. The assassin was so stunned that he did not move to block Ragnar as the Nord thrust his blade forwards, sticking it directly through the Assassin's chest.

When the weight fell heavy on his Sword Ragnar tore it back, for once enjoying the sense of blood all over his body. It had been so long since he had fought, yet his body remembered the moves as if it had only been a couple of days. He was slower, his moves more basic and less powerful but he had made the best of it with what he had. He quickly turned his attention to Renault, the woman he had considered a poser. He was beyond stunned by her actions, by her power. She had given her life to arm a complete stranger. A disrespectful stranger. She had died for her Emperor without a second thought, and he knew by the look of peace on her face that she did not regret a single thing. He knelt beside her, bowing his head in respect as he placed his thumb and pointer finger on each eyelid. He silently pulled her eyes closed, granting her the peace he could never know.

He got to his feet, keeping a respectful silence for the first woman to ever have gained his respect. It was a strange feeling, to respect something weaker. He always respected foes that could wield a weapon like he could, that could rage as only a true barbarian could. Yet this woman had shown such courage in the face of death. She had sacrificed herself. He brought closed fist over his chest in a salute as he held her blade in his left hand, hanging and dripping with blood. It would avenge its mistress before the day was over, Ragnar silently swore it. With one more look to her face he set out, but not before he honoured her once more.

"Talos guide you"

**AN: Sorry for not rushing the prison escape. I feel there are a lot of details that could be covered there not just because I have a different twist on it. If Nobody but Baurus knows you're working for the Emperor then it makes sense there would be a bounty on your head. I am also wanting to make the chapters shorter, instead of throwing out my usual 4000 words and done. **


	5. Chapter 5 – A Different Path

Chapter 5 – A Different Path

"I think that was all of them. Let me take a look around" Baurus gasped out, kicking the warrior off his blade. Sometime during their battle the shield had been handed to the younger Redguard, despite Glenroy's skill at using it to hold off waves of attackers. Baurus handled the shield with more confidence that his counterpart, who was busy pacing around hunting for more assassins. The Blades had waded through the bodies of the assassins sent to kill their Emperor. Their muscles screamed for a rest, their eyes were blurred from the sweat dripping down from their brow. Shining silver blades were covered in red, as was their clean armor. The Emperor's robes were also covered in blood, and his blade was crimson in his hands. They had taken many lives this day and would take many more before the glorious sunset.

"Have you seen the Prisoner?" Emperor Uriel asked. His voice was tired yet hopeful, as if seeing Ragnar would bring his spirits up and give him the courage to continue along the path that was riddled with death.

"Do you think he followed us? How could he?" Baurus asked.

"I know he did" Uriel said in a confident tone of voice, looking towards the shadows of the level above. The Emperor was not one to hope without cause and he was not one to be afraid of what fate held in store for him. He had seen things no mortal should have seen. He had seen to the limits of a Mortals gaze and he had woken. Every moment he drew breath was a gift. A gift the divines gave him to serve Tamriel and to ensure its protection when he was gone, passed into the next life.

"Sire, we have to go now" Glenroy spoke up. His tone was softened and considerate yet it was also firm. That of a Commander on a mission. A suicide mission. Renault's burden had fallen to him, and not even the Dremora that lived beyond the fires of Oblivion were going to stop him. Nothing was going to prevent him saving his Emperor, protecting Tamriel's ruler. He set his jaw, lowered his brow and began to move. If need be he would follow his Captain's lead and would sacrifice his life, but he couldn't think and act as if he was already dead. If he showed weakness then Baurus might follow. He could not be defeated, no matter how grim the situation looked.

"Not yet. Let me rest a while longer" The Emperor replied, instantly sounding his age. He sounded old and worn. Tired. There was acceptance in his voice as well, as if he knew he was going to his death. Ragnar realised the Emperor was waiting for him, and he felt his heart beat a little faster. He didn't know why, but he felt incredibly proud to be valued by the Emperor. He leapt down from the ledge, landing a safe distance away from the Blades. They both turned on him, weapons drawn and eyes flaming with righteous fury. He knew how he looked; he knew the blood staining his body made him look wild along with his bloodshot eyes. He also knew the Blades needed him, just as he needed their guidance. He held his hands up in a mock surrender, keeping Renault's blade in his grip the entire time. Glenroy's eyes widened as he realised that Ragnar has his late Captain's blade. Then the Redguard's eyes narrowed in absolute fury.

"Damnit, it's that prisoner again! Kill him, he might be working with the Assassins" The Redguard took several strides forwards, pointing his weapon at Ragnar. The larger Nord simply stared at the man, taking several strides forwards with his sword at the ready.

"No. He is not one of them. He can help us. He must help us" Uriel said in a steady tone, stepping forwards and grabbing the Redguard's wrist for a second. The Emperor betrayed the desperation to keep Ragnar alive in that subtle, unnecessary gesture, but at the time nobody thought anything about it. Ragnar straightened slightly, rolling his shoulders as he held the blade. He quickly lowered the point as the Emperor approached him.

"They cannot understand why I trust you. They've not seen what I've seen. How can I explain? Listen. You know the Nine? How they guide our fates with an invisible hand? I've served the Nine all my days, and I chart my course by the cycles of the heavens. The skies are marked with numberless sparks, each a fire, and every one a sign. I know these stars well. The signs I read show the end of my path. My death, a necessary end, will come when it will come."

"Can you see my fate?" Ragnar asked softly, unsure what bid him to ask such a question. The Emperor was an inspirational man, and being in his presence was something Ragnar was not used to and had not ever expected in his wildest dreams. The Emperor smiled, his kindness and wisdom shining through as he shook his head.

"My dreams grant me no opinions of success. Their compass ventures not beyond the doors of death. But in your face, I behold the sun's companion. The dawn of Akatosh's bright glory may banish the coming darkness. With such hope, and with the promise of your aid, my heart must be satisfied No trophies of my triumphs precede me. But I have lived well, and my ghost shall rest easy. Men are but flesh and blood. They know their doom, but not the hour. In this I am blessed to see the hour of my death... To face my apportioned fate, then fall. Now, I go to my grave. A tongue shriller than all the music calls me. You shall follow me yet for a while, then we must part."

…

Ragnar stood with the Emperor, blade drawn as he waited for some of the Assassins to get past the Blades fighting their hearts out near the entrance. They had walked right into a trap, which in turn had forced them to look down a dead end. Once inside the dead end the Assassins had jumped down behind them, attacking quickly and without mercy. Baurus and Glenroy were working as a team, one striking as the other blocked, but steadily they were surrounded. An assassin lunged for Glenroy's back, forcing Baurus to react on instinct. The Younger Redguard stepped in and threw the blade aside with his shield, then slashed upwards with his blade. The assassin leaned backwards, avoiding the blow by mere millimeters. Baurus followed up with a thrust of the sword, and a flick of his wrist. He quickly got his blade into one of the assassin's throats, disarming another with another flick of the wrist.

Four assassins rushed past the Blades fir Ragnar, who stepped forwards quickly. He raised his blade, intent on defending the Emperor. The first assassin struck with a mace trying to break Ragnar's arm. The large Nord jumped backwards, swinging his blade with all his might. The Assassin leapt back, barely avoiding a deadly wound. Ragnar's blade tore through the flesh of his arm between the armor, leaving him bleeding. The other assassins tried to get in, but they were bottle necked in the fine corridor. Ragnar used his environment to his advantage, slashing as two assassins stood beside one another. A scream of agony filled the air as Ragnar swung upwards, bringing the blade between the Assassin's legs. The said assassin dropped like a stone to his knees, holding his groin. Ragnar wasted no time, he swung and decapitated the enemy. The head went rolling along the ground, tripping the first assassin as he lunged. One on the ground Ragnar fell to his knee with a vicious cry, driving his blade through the assassin's throat. He ignored the sounds as the assassin died, instead leaping over the bodies to bring his blade down on a third assassin. The forth slashed with a dagger, catching Ragnar across the arm. He yelled in alarm, dropping his blade as he reached to grab his arm. He was not used to being caught by an enemy's blade, and by the gods, it hurt like Oblivion. He leapt at the assassin, tackling the man to the ground. He quickly landed on top and grabbed the man's arm, bending it an awkward angle before he raised his fist. He brought it down again, and again, and again. He struck the man's arm with a large fist until the bones in the man's broke. The man screamed loudly as Ragnar pulled the broken arm, twisting the blade on the assassin. With one final punch he forced the man to stab himself with his conjured dagger.

"I can go no further. You alone must stand against the Prince of Destruction and his mortal servants. Even the might of the Blades cannot stand against the Power that rises to destroy us. The Prince of Destruction awakes, born anew in blood and fire. These cutthroats are but his mortal pawns. You alone must stand against the Prince of Destruction and his mortal servants. He must not have the Amulet of Kings! Take the Amulet. Give it to Jauffre. He alone knows where to find my last son. Find him, and close shut the jaws of Oblivion." The Emperor said in a sad yet wise tone of voice. Ragnar stared for a moment before he got up, noticing the amulet in the Emperor's hand. He reached out, taking the old man's hand in his own in a strong handshake of respect.

"I won't forget you, Emperor Uriel" he said sincerely.

"Stand true, my friend. May your heart be your guide and the gods grant you strength. Remember me, and remember my words. This burden is now yours. You hold our future in your hands" The Emperor said, taking a few strides backwards. Ragnar tried to follow but magic held him still, as if he was frozen in the coldest ice of Skyrim. His muscles refused to move an inch, and he knew then and there fate itself had spoken. One of the arches revealed another secret passage and a warrior walked through holding a mace. He struck the Emperor once up the back of the head. The Emperor's face never revealed his pain. His kind eyes were simply calm and at peace. It frightened Ragnar. He knew right then at that moment that he would never be able to erase the Emperor from his memory, or his nightmares.

Everything became a blur as he was freed, but he was aware of a blade in his hands and he was aware of the blood of assassins flowing freely down his arms, mixing with his own. He was aware of retrieving two blades, listening to Baurus mourn his comrades.

"By the way, thanks for recovering my Comrades swords. I'll see they are given a place of honor in the hall of the Blades" Baurus announced, taking the Blade from the ground where Ragnar had left it.

"I… uh, screw it. Keep the damn blade then. I'll find other weapons" he growled, storming off into the Sewers before a stunned Baurus could even reply.

…..

He blink as the sunlight shone in his eyes, forcing him to raise his arm to defend against the assault. It turned out that finding a weapon and working his way through the sewers had been more challenging than Baurus had suggested. He had stopped to sleep at one point, cooking a rat before he put the fire out and moved right away. He was lucky enough to have been able to avoid most of the Goblins, although he still stunk. The light was so bright he had to blink again as he removed his hand from over his eyes, narrowed eyes as he tried to force them to stay open. He was near water, with bright, beautiful colours of the landscape. He stumbled out, looking around for the right way to go to get on the path to Jauffre. He was completely lost, covered in mud and shit alike from the sewers and he didn't smell much better than he looked. He groaned as he reached up to his hair, pulling a clump of what he hoped was mud out. He groaned again as he shook his hand, sending the mud flying away.

"You look like you could use a hand… and a bath" a cheerful female voice reached his ears. He turned to growl at the woman, only to pause when he saw her.

She was no normal woman, he could tell that instantly. She was a lithe young Nord, neither tall nor short dressed in fine leather armor that highlighted her appearance. The dagger strapped to her thigh made him want to laugh; it was a toothpick just like its mistress. He had no doubt he could snap them both in half without putting much effort into it, yet he didn't.

Her skin was soft, barely sun kissed with a slight golden shine. Her brow was soft and arched with fine eyebrows and not a single line marring it. Her eyes were captivating, a soft, dark hazel colour that he knew he could drown in if he wasn't careful. Her nose was neither small nor large, slightly pointed yet holding a certain cuteness to it. Her lips were perfectly shaped, highlighted with a soft red lipstick. Her cheekbones were high and subtle, falling in a soft slope to her slightly pointed chin. Her hair however caught his attention. It was a silvery blonde, as if white and golden had mixed to make white gold. It didn't look young yet it didn't look old. He had never seen hair like that in his life. The woman wasn't a classic beauty, yet she was somehow very attractive.

"Thanks for stating the obvious" he grunted sourly. His mood was not good, and this woman's cheerfulness was already irksome to him. Her face didn't change from a smartass smirk, eyes shining in amusement. She was secretly impressed by his dark hair and midnight blue eyes, but she wasn't about to reveal that just yet.

"You should be nice to me" she said, leaning back onto the crate. She sat on weatherworn wood, yet she didn't fall through as Ragnar knew he would. He didn't pay attention to her packs, nor to the piece of paper she was holding up calmly.

"Why? You want to fuck me, so I need to nurse your little womanly feelings?" he asked in amusement.

"Because I have a royal pardon for you, and your gear that was taken when you were arrested. I think I put on another stone of muscle lugging that around" the woman shrugged, announcing the fact as if it were something simple. Ragnar did a double take, his eyes instantly zooming onto her chest. She had breasts, breasts that were straining against the tight leather. They were not large and full like women he enjoyed, but they were most certainly there. His eyes then zeroed in on the apex of her thighs. There was no bulge, there was no cock hidden beneath the leather. She was most certainly a she… but how was that possible? How could a woman have achieved so much? Had she slept with the entire city? Had her husband, father or brother done it for her and she was taking the credit? Or… was she simply an incredible woman? An overpowering urge came over him. He wanted to know about her, know how in the realms Oblivion she had done everything she claimed to have done. Proof was in her hands, but he knew women were deceptive creatures. He would have to tread cautiously.

"What's your name, girl?" he asked, treating her as a child. She was obviously young, no older than her early twenties although she appeared to be more in her late teens. For a moment she pouted, pushing her lips out and hardening her expression. Ragnar almost laughed at her expression. She clearly did not like being called a child. It was interesting to see the expression on her face, it made her look even younger yet he could tell she was a full grown woman. She had a certain wisdom about her that shook him to the core. He could also smell a whore when he saw one. Perhaps she wasn't as bad as that, but she most certainly wasn't innocent.

"I'll have you know I am not a child. I'm probably older than you" she said in a clear, crisp tone of voice.

"And by the way, just for being a dick you can wash your own back" she added with a smirk. Ragnar rolled his eyes. This little woman was playing with him, trying to twist his mind and words against him. He had barely been with her a few minutes and she was already proving she was trying to play his emotions, thoughts and words. She could not be trusted.

"Just tell me your name, woman!" he growled, taking a threatening step forwards. She crossed her arms over her chest, her smile softening for a moment before she spoke.

"Eira. Eira Stronach"

**AN/ So I will be posting a little less regularly now, as I have slowed down on the writing madness. I also have a lots of writing projects as well as School to contend with. I am wondering whether to post Champion or not, so any votes are welcomed. **


	6. Chapter 6 - Broke

Chapter 6 – Broke

Ragnar couldn't believe Eira. She was impossible! She had just accepted money from someone when they had helped them. All they had done was find someone and deliver a message but Eira had taken all the money offered without hesitation. What kind of woman was she? It wasn't like the Old lady had much money to give and Eira had taken it. She was now strutting down the street with a gleeful bounce to her feathery steps. He could only follow with his long strides, stomping down the street to reflect his irritation. People were moving out of his way, staring at him as he stormed down the white stone paved streets, muttering and growling like a wild animal. It was mid-afternoon, and the streets were hot. In his armor he was almost positive he was drawing attention and extra heat, but he wasn't about to walk through the Imperial City without protection. He was so distracted by his rage that be barely noticed the chickens running across the path, followed by a screaming Breton. He stumbled as a chicken ran across his foot, clucking and squawking as it ran for its freedom.

"Stupid fucking bird!" Ragnar growled furiously, drawing his foot back and kicking the chicken in a blind rage at Eira's head. Perhaps having a filthy bird clawing at her head would give her a fright and teach her to walk behind him, where she belonged. It was as if the Assassin had a sixth sense as she spun, drawing her dagger in one fluid motion. She effortlessly threw the dagger at the chicken, sending both flying back towards Ragnar. His mouth fell open as the dagger hilt hit the chicken directly in the chest, sending the potential corpse of a bird flying back to him. He took his eyes off her for one moment. One tinsy, tiny moment to see the chicken land at his feet, then when he looked back to her she was gone. He stared around the street, looking for the elusive woman for a few seconds before he looked down to the chicken. It was gone.

_"What in Oblivion?" _He thought in a minor panic, again looking around for the woman. What the hell had happened? What in Oblivion was she that she could move so fast? A Dremora? A ghost? A figment of his imagination? Maybe he was dreaming and at any moment he would wake back in that prison cell or at the chopping block with the axe coming down. Maybe this was him making his was to Sovngarde. He turned around, deciding he should backtrack his steps and find a place he could rest. Perhaps he could go return the money to the Old Woman. He had the purse in his hand as he turned, only to get a face full of feathers. He spluttered and yelped, stumbling backwards and waving his hands to deflect the clucking madness. He felt a beak peck at his chin and hands, making him yell even louder in surprise and fury alike.

"You really shouldn't kick things that aren't yours" An amused voice said. Instantly he lowered his hands, his jaw tensing and his expression growing furious. There stood Eira, holding the chicken by its legs as it kicked and flapped in his face. He had to bite back a scream of utter fury as he lifted his hand up to the chicken, taking its head and neck in his hand. He placed his thumb against its throat; lining the point of his armor up with what he hoped would be a fatal location. He gazed into Eira's eyes for the briefest, challenging her to say something. The woman seemed pleased enough to let him continue with his crime. Annoyed he hadn't gotten a reaction from her he pushed his thumb forwards, putting his clawed finger straight through the chicken's neck.

"Oops." He stated simply, glaring into Eira's eyes. The young Nord narrowed her eyes slightly, a lowering twitch of the brow as she contemplated what to do with him. Eventually she shrugged, letting the chicken's legs go. It's full weight was suddenly hanging from Ragnar's thumb rather uncomfortably. He groaned, shaking his hand in disgust as he let the bird hit the ground. Before he knew it his coin purse was gone, held in the lithe woman's hand.

"I think I should hold onto this, least we be swimming in ale and women yet have nothing to eat" she said as she opened the purse, frowning as she continued to count out his coin quickly as a rough estimate. She eventually looked to Ragnar, her expression blank for a moment before a displeased and disbelieving look appeared on her face.

"Aye. I could use a good whore" Ragnar agreed, fishing for a reaction from the little rouge. It was strange; some things brought little bits of reaction to the surface. Explosive and deadly. The girl was a gentle soul, warm and kind and yet possessed a darkness he could not fathom… What scared him is he thought it was strangely beautiful.

"You're so broke I wonder how you can afford a woman. It's no wonder you smell like shit, other than the fact you waded through it" Eira quipped. Ragnar stared at her for a moment before she began to walk off back towards the Waterfront. He knew where they were going; he had spent many a day on that lovely ship. The Bloated Float was a simple enough ship, and it had been affordable on his income… which was almost nothing. He rolled his eyes as Eira began to hum a cheerful tune that only she knew. It was enough to make him grind his teeth, and he was almost positive the cheeky little wench knew it. She turned to look at him, pausing her humming to smile and wink at him before she set off again, resuming her annoying humming. He had no idea how to sum how he felt up in a single word, and he had no idea what insult would get through her armor. Eventually he surrendered, sighing and throwing his hands up as he said the first word that came to mind.

"Women!"

….

The boat was romantically lit with lanterns, flickering fire light making the darkest shadow dance on the corner of a patrons vision. The food was pleasant enough, considering it was half the price of places she usually stayed. The soft rocking of the boat on the water was also strangely pleasant. She hated to admit defeat but Ragnar had been right about the place. It was quite a charismatic little place where nobody would suspect to look for him. Of course, he had changed out of his armor but he had absolutely refused to part with his great sword, which was resting on the table beside him. The blade was ginormous, almost the same size as Eira herself. It was a cruel blade, slightly curved and splitting into a smaller tip that was surpassed by the size and width of the larger one. One side had several teeth, teeth that would do more damage being pulled out than being thrust in. The hilt was also somewhat cruel, with a sharp design that resembled a primitive axe head.

"So, lass. Enjoying my old abode?" He asked with a smirk, leaning back in his chair. Eira looked around, casually noting her surroundings. She gazed out the windows beside her for a moment, only seeing twinkling lights in the distance. It was clearly night time, and only the torches lit for the late night guards were permitted to burn. Everything was peaceful, yet she couldn't help but feel a nagging sensation that something wasn't right. Whatever it was she felt as though they were being watched, or the place was being sized up before a robbery. She had not let her dagger part from her thigh, nor had she kept her hand far from it the entire time. She could tell Ragnar was being a smartass, a typical lad. He was trying to bait her into a response she would regret, or maybe he was simply antagonising her to be friendly. She had heard of uncivilised people who did such a thing.

"I think I'll head to bed, pussycat" She said sweetly, noticing the slight look of discomfort on Ragnar's face at the affectionate name. She silently noted his discomfort, struggling to decide whether or not she should look into affectionate pet names to irritate the Nord with. She shook her head to herself, silently scolding herself for even considering it.

_"We are meant to be working together to save the world, not deliberately making one another feel uncomfortable… even if I am right and he is wrong. Maybe I shouldn't tell him that"_

"Pussycat? I am a true Nord, not a Khajiit. I am nothing like a pussy cat!" he exclaimed loudly, slamming his hand down on the table. The bouncer, an Orc named Graman gro-Marad, gazed at them with concerned eyes. He obviously knew Ragnar well, and the way the Orc looked fearful suggested he had lost many a rough and tumble with the large Nord. Eira looked as if she was going to insult him for a second, as if she were going to object to his behaviour. He was positively delighted inside; it was finally a chance to see what the little woman was made of. She stared a moment longer, as if silently weighing something up. Then she did something he never would have expected. She laughed. She laughed at him! In all his years never had he been laughed at as the little assassin was laughing at him now. Her laughter was warm and friendly, feminine yet not an annoying laugh like that of the dipsy or wealthy women. Her laughter held a real quality, a quality that made Ragnar's insides bubble in merriment. Then he remembered why she was laughing and stood up, determined to intimidate the small girl. He put his hands on her biceps, gripping them aggressively as he shook her, watching her head fly backwards and forwards.

"I am not a pussy! I am not a pussycat! I am a true Nord. I am a Nord with Daedric armor!" he declared loudly, screaming in her face. Alcohol and anger both played a part as his face went bright red with anger. Eira could only laugh harder, placing her hand on his forearm as she bent over and continued to laugh like a woman possessed. After a moment she regained her composure, gazing at the angry Ragnar. With a playful smile she gave his beard a tug and stepped into his space. His eyes went wide as he realised the woman had invaded his space, and had his beard in her petite little hands. He wasn't sure what he felt most. Excited or insulted. She then stepped backwards, dragging him by his beard as she hummed. He was so stunned by her actions he didn't fight, he simply grabbed his broadsword and flicked her hand away.

"Hands off woman" he slurred as he spoke, stumbling as he was led down the stairs. He didn't know what the heck was wrong with him. He had been able to drink three times what he had this night before he had gone into prison, and he had only been drinking mead. It wasn't as if he was drinking the strongest stuff on the shelf, more like the weakest. Was it a lack of tolerance after not drinking for years, or was there something else afoot? Eira laughed softly, shaking her head as she continued to lead him to their room.

"Someone is a little bit drunk, huh?"

"Shanounce the fwucking obshioush" he slurred again. Eira rolled her eyes as he collapsed, driving his sword into one of the supply sacks as he tried to regain his balance. She didn't know what to think, Ragnar appeared like he could handle his alcohol fine, and he had not drunk that much. Only a few bottles. She didn't think much more of it as she began to drag him and his giant sword to the room. Obviously he was very, very drunk. He also weighed a bloody ton. She actually groaned and strained as she dragged him to the bedroom and kicked the door open. She didn't even bother trying to lift him onto the bed, she simply pulled him into the corner, snatched the pillow from the bed and placed it under his head. She then tugged the blanket from the bed and threw it over his body. Once she was done she turned to the door and locked it, giving the door a few shoves to ensure it wouldn't swing open before she flopped onto the bed and lay there, with her hands beneath her head and her armor still on. She didn't even bother with her boots as she closed her eyes and let herself drift off to sleep.

It wasn't like the ship was going to be attacked by a vicious gang of thieves after a golden treasure or anything.


End file.
